Nightmare and Reflection
by alynwa
Summary: Originally written for the Picfic Tuesday Challenge on LJ. The picture at left is the prompt. Napoleon realizes he might have an unresolved issue.


Napoleon tracked his prey through the woods, rifle in gloved hand. He was wearing his orange plaid hunting jacket and hat with its ridiculous ear flaps that his mother always insisted he snap closed under his chin and he unsnapped the moment he was out of her sight. Right now, he was approaching the pond on the edge of their property in Maine. It was early February and there had been a bit of an early thaw, so that there was very little snow on the ground and none on the trees and he knew not to trust the ice that still covered part of the water, knowing it would not support his weight. He also knew with a hunter's instinct that his prey knew not to go out on the ice, but its need for water had brought it here.

Napoleon knew these woods well; he had hunted here all his life with his father and his grandfather, usually for rabbits, squirrels and geese. This was the first time he had ever attempted to hunt anything this large. He had sighted it about two hours earlier moving through a clearing about a mile and a half from where he was standing. They had actually startled each other and in his haste to bring it down he had only wounded it and had watched in dismay as it ran off into the woods.

He had done as he had been taught: He waited for a few moments before beginning to follow. If he had started running after the quarry immediately, it might have panicked and that burst of adrenaline could cause it to run further and faster than if he had waited and let the blood loss slow it down. When he got to the place where it had stood, he noted with satisfaction the bright red blood that indicated it was gravely wounded. _All I have to do is not lose the trail; time is on my side._

He moved to a point right at the edge of the tree line that afforded him an unobstructed view of the pond. The blood trail had continued toward the opposite end of the water. He was certain what he was looking for would come to drink. He could bide his time. He made himself comfortable by sitting with his back against a pine tree and passed the time by looking through his gun's scope at the landscape.

He wasn't sure how much time had elapsed, but the sound of a twig snapping brought his attention to the part of the pond at his two o'clock. In the quiet that was the woods, it might as well have been a thunderclap. He leaned forward and raised his gun in that direction and peered down the scope. He was rewarded with the sight of his prey, obviously weakened, making its way down to the water's edge.

He slowed his breathing and placed the crosshairs so that a point just below the shoulder was targeted and then, just like his father had taught him, he held his breath and fired. This time, there was no running, only a sudden falling to the ground as if it had been clubbed and he knew without a doubt that it never knew what hit it. _Got you_, he thought with smug enjoyment as he stood and approached the downed creature. _Everyone will be so proud of me!_

Strangely though, the closer he got to it, the less it looked like an animal. _Those are strange markings and the hooves are misshapen. _With a growing feeling of dread, he began to realize that _he _was not sixteen years old. He scrubbed at his face and could feel stubble. He came to a halt when he was ten feet away from the deer, only it wasn't a deer. _Oh my God, it's Illya! _He could see that his kill shot had entered the man's side and heart just as he had planned and the man's dead eyes stared at nothing. Blood from his first shot still oozed from the smaller man's shoulder.

His forgotten rifle slipped from his hand onto the ground as he flung himself at his partner's body and started to gather it to his chest. "Illya!" he wailed in grief and despair, "I'm sorry! I'm sorry, so so sorry!" Hot tears began to slide down his face. "What have I done? Oh God, what have I…"

"_Napoleon!"_

His eyes snapped open as he sat bolt upright in his bed, pistol in his hand so fast he didn't remember reaching under his pillow to get it. His head turned to his left to take in his partner lying on his side in his own bed staring at him questioningly. He wanted to answer the Russian's unspoken query, but the circumstances of the dream crashed back onto him and he bent over like a ragdoll, arms on either side of his legs and continued to weep.

Illya came out of his bed quickly and sat next to his partner and began to rub his back soothingly. "It is alright, Napoleon. You are safe. It was a nightmare. You began to shout and cry in your sleep and I called you to awaken you."

Napoleon got himself back under control and wiped his eyes. "I'm sorry I woke you up," he mumbled, "I'm…sorry."

"Do not apologize. I should be apologizing to you; the last mission was hard for both of us. Do you want to talk about it?"

The brunet shook his head. "No, ah, I'm fine, now. Go back to sleep, Illya. I'm alright, really."

The blond shrugged and got back into his own bed and, as usual, was back asleep in less than a minute. Napoleon eased himself back down and tried to clear his mind enough to fall back to sleep, but in his mind's eye, he could still see Illya in that Nazi uniform, could still see that device he had been strapped to, could still see the emotionless expression on Illya's face as he tortured him ruthlessly. _I don't need one of UNCLE's head – shrinkers to tell me that dream is about the conflict I feel because of what Illya did to me during the Gurnius Affair. He _had _to do it or both of us could have died if he had been discovered. I told him I understood and I do, but that dream shows that part of me still must resent what happened. We fly home tomorrow. I hope I'm passed it now. _He turned on his side to face away from his partner and his last thought before sleep reclaimed his was: _But what if I'm not?_


End file.
